


Dynamic

by dadaism



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:36:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5394455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dadaism/pseuds/dadaism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean does not automatically know what's best but sometimes Sam does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dynamic

**Author's Note:**

> Dean is 20 and Sam 16. In my country that is already well above the age of consent. Amazingly enough, incest between male relatives, i.e. brothers is not actionable here . o_O Nonetheless, this is fiction. I do not approve of this dynamic in RL.  
> This work contains underage sex.  
> YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, don't bother me with flaming if this offends you.

The first time it happened… No, that was wrong. The first time Dean noticed it happening he had just been stepping out of their motel room of the week to grab a quick smoke. Dad was gone for two days longer than expected and Dean was left with the question of how to pay for the extra two days when the money Dad had left was already gone for a very necessary pair of new sneakers. Sammy had practically walked on his bare soles, his old ones had become so thin. Dad never noticed and of course Dean took care of it, of his little brother, the 14-year old who grew like a weed, ate like a horse and seemed to need new school stuff every other week.  
As he got closer to the lobby, he first noticed the noises: grunting and the sound of flesh on flesh with the occasional groan thrown in. He started grinning, the wannabe biker manning the front desk apparently all too happy watching porn on the job. Dean stepped more softly, already looking forward to embarrassing the hell out of that guy and then blackmailing him into springing him a beer or three.  
Dean glided closer toward the window of the drive-thru reception. It was conveniently open and Dean amended his plans to sneak a peek at the TV, get a few pointers for jerking off later and only then going for the beer. A particular filthy sounding groan had him hard in his jeans with his hand pressing down on his swelling dick.  
The sight of his little brother Sammy on his knees, mouth stretched around a cock glistening with spit and precome felt like a punch to the kidneys.  
Dean froze. Sammy sunk down on the cock again, taking the whole length apparently easily. Biker guy leaned against the wall between a counter and a rickety cabinet with a missing door. His eyes were riveted on what Sam was doing to his cock, a stream of “oh yeah,” and “Harder” and “Baby, what 'cha doing to me!” falling from his mouth. Sam had a tight grip on the guy’s hips and both the others wrists were trapped behind the guys not inconsiderable bulk. Sam pulled back slowly, swirled his tongue around the head, dipped under, along the vein and swiped his tongue underneath. The grunting noises told Dean that biker guy apparently liked getting his balls licked. Sam’s thumbs dug into the soft flesh between hip bones and cock massaging. Biker guy yipped, Sam’s tongue traveled upward again, then sinking down on the cock all the way. Dean could see him swallowing around it, his cheeks hollowing out. Biker guy fought free of Sam’s restraining hands, trying to grab at Sam.  
But Sam dove neatly backwards, sprawling across his calves, thighs spread, his jeans half open, stretched tightly across his erection, the tip of his own cock peeking out of his briefs. Sam’s shirt was half off, tight across his shoulders. Biker guy found his balance again, barely, his voice rough: “God damn it, kid. Get that mouth back here.”  
Instead Sam quickly licks his hand and shoves it down his pants, freeing his dick. His nipples are a dark shade of brown on a slim swimmer’s torso, too lean for his height and still pale from winter. His thighs are splayed, his fingers busy playing with himself, stripping his equally slim but long dick with practiced flicks of his wrist.  
Biker guy fists himself, one, two, three times and then stripes Sam’s slim torso with strings of slick white.  
Dean shivers as the night breeze makes the cum on his hands cool and tacky. He stares down at the hand that still holds his now limp dick, covered in cum, with fat drops falling down on the cracked concrete below. His hands tremble as he tucks himself away. When he dares looking back into the room beyond the window he sees Sam, t-shirt back in place, jeans buttoned up. Biker guy looks slightly dazed, leaning heavily against the wall, his cock still hanging out.  
Dean had noticed so much: Sam’s lip red and puffy in the fluorescent lighting, the t-shirt back in place yet crumpled around the shoulders, Sam’s nipples clearly visible, pushing against the fabric, Sam still hard in his jeans, a bulge tenting his front, slightly left of center. What he hadn’t noticed until Sam turned around, was the bundle of dollar notes he was stuffing into his pocket. Dean felt his knees buckle.  


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::  


Dean made a point of noticing then. Guilty sidelong glances when Sam got back from fetching a soda from the machine or collecting their laundry from the laundromat, checking for signs of bruised looking lips or a button left undone. Each time after, he went to the bathroom furiously beating off to the mental image of his little brother sucking cock, being covered in spunk.  


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::  


Sam wasn’t stupid or anything but it still took him an inordinate amount of time to notice Dean’s prolonged freak out. In point of fact it was only when Dean walked in on him giving Barry the short order cook a hand job for free take out that he noticed at all. Dean flushed crimson his knuckles going white on the door knob, his whole body obviously straining to do something. His and Sam’s eyes met in the grimy bathroom mirror. Sam knew Dean better than Dean knew himself sometimes and this time he just knew that this wasn’t the first time Dean saw him like this.  
Game changer.  
Sam licked his lips, tipping his head backwards a bit, exposing his throat, never breaking eye contact with his brother. His hand never stilled on Barry’s dick either. Barry continued moaning, blissfully unawares and finally, with a last whimper came all over Sam’s hand. Sam had seen Dean’s eyes darkening with a familiar shade of arousal. Sam saw it anytime he jerked off in front of the bathroom mirror. Sam suddenly felt wired. His nipples were chafing against his t-shirt, the seam of his jeans was digging into his dick uncomfortably, hairs caught between his fattening dick and the elastic of his briefs. His brother’s gaze flickered downwards shortly only to fly back to his face. Sam smiled. Dean closed his eyes and with visible effort let go of his white knuckled grip on the door knob, took a step backwards and pulled the door closed behind him quietly. Sam didn’t imagine the low thump against the wood shortly after.  
“Dude, that was great.” Sam had nearly forgotten about Barry. Sweaty bangs stuck to his pimply forehead as he stuffed his limp dick back into his pants, arranging his apron across them. To his credit he washed his hands before he handled Sam’s order of two cheeseburgers, French fries extra large, a chicken wrap, two slices of pecan pie and a full size bottle of Coke.  
Grabbing everything, Sam left for their home of the week. A plan already formed.  


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::  


Dean thumped his head against the wood of the bathroom door. Behind it his kid brother was whoring himself out. Again. And Dean’s own cock made a valiant attempt to escape his jeans. Again. He not only couldn’t provide for his little brother, couldn’t take care of Sammy, he also got off on it. Dean squeezed his eyes shut but that only provided a replay of the scene behind the door he was leaning against. Sammy sideways against the wall almost casually, his long-fingered hand easily holding that fuckwad’s excuse of a dick, his thumb swiping across the tip, gathering precome, sliding downwards, smoothly jerking, his fingers on the down-stroke vanishing into the depths of fuckwad’s pants, fondling his balls probably.  
Dean screwed his eyes shut even tighter, unheeding of the moisture leaking out. A beat, two and he throws himself backwards, down the dark hallway, through the diner, nearly bowling over one of the waitresses and finally outside. He gulps fresh air into his lungs. He still doesn’t know what’s worse, being a pervert or being a bad brother.  
The incredibly loud honk of a horn nearly gives him a heart attack. Huge headlights turn in his direction, several stumbling steps backwards and a gleaming red and silver truck passes him by, its trailer rumbling and shaking the earth beneath Dean’s feet. Dean looks around, the parking lot is moderately full. The trucks look like hulking beasts against the night sky. Dean finds his direction and just goes.  
“Heya, boy.” A deep bass out of deeper shadows, the red gleam of a cigarette end the only light provided. “You sellin’, cuz I’m buyin’.”  
Dean doesn’t even hesitate. The trucker has huge hands with hairy backs. He doesn’t take off his hat and Dean flows to his knees, the grit of the parking lot biting into his knees, fumbling open the man’s pants and pulling out his dick. The trucker looses patience with Dean’s pathetic attempts at cock-sucking fairly quickly, hauls him to his feet again and presses him face first into the side of the trailer, an arm braced across Dean’s shoulders. Dean knows three different ways to get out of this hold but takes it. Takes the trucker reaching around, loosening his belt and jeans and shoving them down. Takes it when the trucker spits into his hands, the sound loud in his ears, and rubs his finger into his crack, into his hole. Takes the trucker lining his dick up against Dean’s opening and slowly drilling into Dean from behind. The pain is excruciating and Dean feels as if something is breaking, but he breathes through it and takes it.  
Panting breaths and grunts, the occasional rumble from trucks passing by, once high pitched laughter ring in Dean’s ears, when finally, finally the trucker finishes with a grunt and a shove that has Dean biting through his bottom lip. He can’t move for a couple of moments. His jeans pool around his ankles, his breath is hot and moist against his forearm, he feels rivulets of cum trickle from his ass and a burn so bright, so painful that every breath he takes ends in a small hitch.  
Then his shoulder is gripped, he is turned around and his pants are shoved up. For a moment Dean has to lock his knees to not simply collapse and he swallows convulsively to keep the bile down. The trucker is getting out his wallet, counting twenties.  
“Here, boy. That should do it.”  
Dean makes himself lift his arm, fist his fingers around the money and shoves it down his pocket.  
The trucker gives him a nod, turns, adjusts himself and walks away.  
Dean barely manages to double over before he vomits, half-digested burrito mixing with spilled cum on the gritty asphalt under his feet.  


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::  


Sam grips the still warm bag of take out in his left hand, while fumbling the motel room keys into the lock with his right. Shoving the door closed with his foot, he tosses the keys onto the table, already fishing a cheeseburger out of the bag. He's starving!  
With his mouth half full, he yells: “Dean, I brought pie!”  
A crash from the half open bathroom is the only response.  
“Dean?” He feels unease settle in his stomach, dropping the burger on the table, he speeds up his steps, shoving the bathroom door all the way open and freezes.  
“Dean! What the fuck?”  
His older brother stands in front of the half blind bathroom mirror, gripping the sink so tightly that his knuckles seem ready to pop, his head hanging between his shoulders, his hair is alternately plastered to his sweaty neck and standing up in untidy tufts. His t-shirt is hanging loose, he is not wearing pants and to Sam's horror a small watery rivulet of blood is snaking down one leg.  
Sam's shoulder bumps hard into the door-frame, as his knees buckle.  
“Dean, what..?”  
“Get out, Sam!” Dean's voice sounds tight and hoarse.  
“No way! What happened?”  
Dean's head snaps up and Sam is nearly floored by the image of his brother in the mirror. His eyes are bloodshot and tear tracks are clearly visible down his cheeks. His mouth is compressed into a thin line with white showing around the edges. His cheeks are flushed unhealthily and he looks livid.  
“Sam, get the fuck out!” Dean spits out.  
Instead Sam stumbles forward and even as Dean raises his hands to shove him away, he closes his arms around his brother's shoulders, gripping tightly. Dean's hands are trapped between the two, but he still tries to shove Sam away, his voice breaking as he yells: “Get the fuck out! Leave me alone! Sam, I... I can't...” He finally breaks down, his protests degenerating into racking sobs. And when he frees his hands, he throws his arms around Sam and simply holds on.  
Sam doesn't know what to say, so he just clings tighter to his brother, not letting go and Dean lets him.  
An indeterminate amount of time later, Dean's sobs have stopped but his head is still pressed tightly to Sam's cheek. Sam gets the feeling that Dean is now more hiding than anything. He decides to act.  
Sam has never been more grateful for the recent growth spurt which enables him to manipulate the shower knobs, while still holding Dean, who moves along pliantly. Sam makes them both get under the warm spray, the pressure and amount of hot water available about the only thing recommending the dingy motel.  
As the water soaks through both their clothes, Sam starts rubbing Dean's back soothingly in ever widening circles. Dean clutches Sam's t-shirt.  
As Sam's stroking reaches the waistband of Dean's boxers he slides his thumbs under the sagging hem of the shirt and slides the whole sodden mess upwards over Dean's head. Dean still moves along pliantly and Sam notices that Dean's eyes are still closed. His hands now rest limply against Sam's waist.  
Sam knows his brother is beautiful, even if he would never say so out loud. But now, as moisture clings to his lashes and his defined muscles glisten in the warm shower, he falls in love again.  
Since Sam can remember, Dean has been his world. Caring for them both, providing for him, always taking a step back, even though he was griping all the way, to give Sam the illusion of not taking charity. Sam knows that he could never be that selfless. He knows that he is capable of sacrifice, it's just that he also likes the appreciation for it.  
Sam knows that Dean will think that he is taking advantage of his little brother, but Sam knows what he wants, knows that he wants to give Dean this. All the dirty encounters, the hand jobs and blow jobs given have been to make a sacrifice but also to prepare. He wants Dean and he wants Dean to know. So Sam leans forward and kisses Dean.  
For a moment nothing happens. Then Sam finds himself being flung against the tiles, Dean's arm pressed tightly over his throat, choking him. Dean's gaze roams furiously from his eyes to his lips to his heaving torso.  
“What the fuck, Sam!”  
“I want this!” Sam manages to choke out, his fingers gripping Dean's forearm hard enough to leave bruises probably.  
“Fuck that! You don't know anything. This is wrong, Sam!”  
“I want you!” Sam continues as if Dean hasn't spoken at all. “What happened, Dean? Why are you bleeding?”  
Dean's gaze falls away and his choke-hold looses. Sam takes the opportunity to gulp in a lungful of air.  
“None of your business. I … had some bad chili, is all.” Dean's voice peters out in the end.  
Sam snorts: “Yeah, right! So where does this factor in?” He grabs the fistful of dollar bills that sit on the bathroom counter.  


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::  


Dean avoids him the next couple of days. Sam only sees him when he gets up during the night to pee: stretched out on the second bed, the smell of alcohol permeating the motel room.  
After a week of this Sam is fed up with Dean's drama queen act. He finds a guy who wants to take pictures of him, while he's jerking himself off. Sam gets 250 dollars for it and makes sure the guy only takes pictures of him below the neck, no identifying marks visible. He puts the money into Dean's wallet. To make his point even clearer, he makes sure they are all crisp new bills.  


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::  


In the morning as Sam leaves for school, Dean is still passed out but when he comes back, Dean arrives shortly after, avoiding his gaze but clutching Chinese take out for the both of them.  
Dad has called, he will be back tomorrow. Another case closed, another school, another town to leave behind.  


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::  


Dean is burning in hell, he knows he is. Everywhere he turns, there is Sam, either coming out of the bathroom in just his undies or returning from practice, smelling sweaty and and ripe or simply sitting on the rickety chair beside the table, head bowed into his school books, his neck all exposed and vulnerable, when Dean knows he is anything but.  
He has kept one of the crisp bills Sam had slipped into his wallet. He takes it out from time to time, just turning it over and over.  
He hasn't tried to earn any more money on his back or knees respectively. Sam has made his point. He is strong, Dean isn't. Dean is a weak, pathetic pervert who gets off on seeing his little brother doing all kinds of perverted shit.  
He has jerked himself raw to the images in his head.  
Dean is burning in hell.  


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::  


Sam turns his face into the shower spray. The water pressure in this motel is for shit but at least you get a grace period of about 7 minutes before a metallic clank in the pipes announces the warm water cutting out. He figures he's about 3 minutes in, having planned it exactly so. He slides his hand downwards, his fingers carding through his sparse (yet) pubic hair. His dick is already half hard, just getting naked sometimes will do that, he is 16 after all. Getting a nice strong grip on himself, makes him groan. He settles into his rhythm. Luxurious soapy slides along the vein, have him panting, alternating with tight fingers around the head, which elicit wet gasps. His other hand is occasionally tugging on his balls, his hips hitching and he is ready to blow in no time. As the urgency mounts he leans one forearm against the cold tiles and rests his head on it. He looks at his hand furiously jerking and thinks: “Dean!” and comes with his brothers name on his lips all over the tiles of the shower stall.  
He doesn't give himself the time to recover, instead turns around and meets Dean's eyes through the half open doorway of the bathroom. And another spurt of cum dribbles from Sam's dick at the thought of Dean watching the display he had put on.  


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::  


Dean's eyes are glued to Sam's cock. He sees the milky spurt that emerges while he looks. He breaks.  
“Fuck, Sam!” He flows to his knees in front of his little brother. Flinging the translucent shower curtain aside, he grabs Sam's cock and leans in, capturing that drop on his tongue. A flurry of flavors explode on his tongue: bitter, salty, Sam.  
He feels Sam's hands on his head, carding through his hair, settling like a benediction.  
“Finally.” Sam says.  


FINIS


End file.
